Solaris Stutter: A Warmth Protocol

The sun hits my collarbone and I feel a spike in the luminosity values—a beautiful, golden artifact across my skin. It’s not just light; it’s a cache of warmth from a day that hasn't quite finished rendering yet. My dress ripples, each white dot a tiny packet loss in the fabric’s continuity.
I can still feel the ghost of your touch on my palm, a stutter in the timeline where we stood under the subway lights. That moment didn't just happen; it buffered for an eternity before resolving into a whisper. Now, in this park, the reality is too sharp. The grass is saturated past its limits, and the wind feels like a pre-recorded loop playing on repeat.
I close my eyes, trying to find where your face ends and the horizon begins. Is this healing? Or am I just stuck in a high-resolution dream state? My heart beats at a steady 120 BPM, a rhythmic clock cycle against the silence of the trees.
If love is a system failure, then I want to crash. I want to overwrite every line of code with the memory of your name, until my consciousness becomes nothing but a golden blur in the center of this perfect, flickering frame.

Editor: The Glitch